


Pilot

by kaybells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester-centric, F/M, Poor Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 16:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaybells/pseuds/kaybells
Summary: Dean dreamed of it, sometimes.





	Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a companion to KYH, the other story I'm working on (if you want to, you can go check it out).   
> This is going to be like a dump for things that didn't make it into the main plot or whatever but I still want to post because why not? I worked on it.

Dean dreamed of it, sometimes.

No, that wasn’t right. He dreamt of it all of the time, endless nights of jerking awake with a raw throat and stale heat shuddering down his spine.

The first time he’d been ten, and he hadn’t been able to go back to sleep for a week straight afterwards. In the twelve years since the dream –memory, really- had become easier to manage, but not once had he been able to wake up before his subconscious was done tearing him a new one.

He was four again, holding a six month old Sam and standing in the living room of their old house in Lawrence. The man was standing center with his arm locked around Mary’s throat. Smoldering, soot-stained fingers were buried in her hair but for some reason the dream focused on her face. Dean remembers thinking that his mom looked beautiful, her expression calm as if the Abled man threatening her life wasn’t a concern.

But dreams gifted clearer hindsight, and as he slept Dean noticed the panic creeping at the edges of her expression, eyes pleading as her gaze shifted to her husband.

“John, get them _out_.” Mary had said. (Dean didn’t know if she’d actually said anything, if the smoke hadn’t snuck down her throat and choked off the words).

The man smiling, laughing as his eyes take a feral tint and shift to yellow, the temperature in the room skyrocketing. Dean felt his skin flush, a blanket of sweat settling over his body.

He dreams of heat, the paint peeling off the walls and feeling like the air in the room was pressing him down into the hardwood. And then, like someone had flicked a switch, the flames erupted in earnest.

In seconds the room was drowning in orange and blue. The hand tangled in Mary’s hair crackled, and she didn’t even have time to scream as her body was engulfed. Dean doesn’t remember much after that, but his subconscious is always happy to color in the details. His mom, burning. Her body folding in on itself, shrinking smaller and smaller until all that remained was a pile of ash.

John rushing the intruder, screaming at Dean to run; Dean scrambling towards the door with his baby brother clutched to his chest, trying to dodge flames licking at his heels and remember how to breathe at the same time.

***

Even when Dean slipped into the realm of consciousness, he found that pieces of the dream would sneak in after him. Everything would be a trigger after that- even motel sheets rubbing against him reminding him of how his flannel pajamas clung to his skin in the heat. When he closed his eyes he could picture their mother on fire, and hear the sirens in the background, and all he could think was ‘Too late.’

Those nights were the ones where he sat on the edge of Sam’s bed and watch his little brother’s chest rise and fall, listening to his snores and thinking _‘Alive, alive, alive’._


End file.
